Her Lustrous Eyes
by poppy23
Summary: 'Death seemed fierce then. All fire and destruction. What is it now? Lurking. Silent. Always just out of sight.' With Voldemort gone, it is no longer a battle between good and evil. It's far more complicated than that. Post-Hogwarts & Next Gen. H/G R/Hr Ted/Vic WARNINGS: Strong language, maybe sexual content later on
1. 2024

I feel old, more every day. My skin is looser and won't strengthen. I know he sees it. I see it in him. His hair is flecked with grey, like his eyes have always been. His lips feel thinner, when I do feel them. He's snoring, gently – his breath whistles and still has the power to soothe me, the sound washing over our little night. The moon's coming through the curtains and we're cast in silver like a premonition. The colour will keep fading from us until we're bones. A door creaks somewhere in the house and for a moment I'm sure it's Rose, stumbling through the dark to find my embrace, but it's not. She'll not come. I could go and stand by her room, peak through the slit in the door like I did in the old nights, and her bed would be deserted. Christ knows where she is. At least I can close my eyes and see Hugo now, wrapped up in crimson and gold like a king. 16 tomorrow. Ron dealt with his present; what do I know about teenage boys now? But I miss those days, sometimes. It was still fun then, although we were on the cusp of some terror beyond our understanding. Death seemed fierce then. All fire and destruction. What is it now? Lurking. Silent. Always just out of sight. I feel older than is fair.

A few cards are still on the bedside table, wishing us a happy 20th wedding anniversary; the tiny fireworks on the front will go on exploding for all eternity. I meant to put them away. There were doubts, perhaps there always are, but I was pretty in that moment. For once my hair was glossy, sleek, tumbling down the nape of my neck in myriad knots. My skin was ivory like the moon, lips pinched rose pink. I had promised my mum I'd wear a dress rather than a robe - some little muggle token – and it was ice white, glittering with a thousand crystal butterflies. Red leaves cracked below our feet all day. They set the rhythm of our first dance. It had been a long wait. I was scared. He'd asked before and I hadn't said no exactly, but wavered, staring into the depths of my future, not knowing what I hoped to see. So I fixed onto his pale eyes and let him move me. James was just born; a wriggling, screaming bundle, draining Ginny all day. Exhausted and bewildered, she was still glorious, still outshining me as she always did. There's never been bitterness. We have always been on different paths. But Ginny and Harry had always seemed so sure, and they still are.

He shuffles in his sleep; rolls to face me. His snores cease for a moment as he presses his nose into the pillow. His hand brushes my waist through the duvet. Unconsciously my hand moves to his face, ambles along his jaw, thumb strokes his freckled cheek. Perhaps he doesn't look so old at all. We could be in that tent now, a life time ago. He used to come to me at night and it would be like this, just like this. We always were restrained for teenagers on the run. You could feel the stars then, with just that thin layer keeping us apart from them. You could feel the stars inside yourself, flickering like our hearts.

'What are you looking at?' His voice is hoarse. He smirks.

'You.' I let those thin lips press against my forehead. 'I can't wait for Hugo to be back,' I say, my voice muffled by his shoulder. His hand cradles my head and draws me to his chest, like he did to Rose when she was tiny.

'Me too.'

I can feel tears building in my eyes, and if I speak again this spontaneous, strange sadness will flow. He knows. He will see me through tonight.


	2. 2014

She looked up and saw a flash of orange. Then weight pushed against her stomach, but it was soft and warm.

'Viktor Krum was excellent, wasn't he, Mum? It's a shame that Brazil didn't win but he really was very good, wasn't he?'

'Yes, I suppose he was,' she said, and smoothed her daughter's hair against her freckled cheek. Why not like this forever? She took Rose's hand and led her towards the rest.

'Don't you think Viktor Krum was good, Daddy?' But Daddy did not hear, and he had scooped Hugo up onto his shoulders by the time Rose repeated the question. She held tighter to her mother's hand as they walked up the dirt track towards the house.

Inside, Hermione got drinks. Harry and Ron sat out on the veranda and watched the sun cool into evening, discussed the match, or the desert as it stretched out before them, or now and then the return to England. Hugo, on the arid plain, arm-wrestled James and lost, and then arm-wrestled Lily and lost. They laughed, Lily rolling back and forth against the dust in convulsions, while Hugo sulked, stone-kicking and all bottom lip. Albus was curled up on the living room sofa, sinking into the cushions that dwarfed him, and clutched the match programme so tightly that it quivered half an inch from his nose.

'What are you reading about?' said Rose from the door, and edged tenderly into the room.

'What?'

'What are you reading about?'

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, with wide, emerald eyes.

'Oh,' he said, looking down again and flipping back through the pages with a slight blush. 'Gonçalo Flores, the Brazilian Chaser. Did you know that he was only 18 when he started playing for them? And he left home when he was 9 to train in Japan? And in the last World Cup he played Seeker when Teixeira was injured?' He had hardly paused for breath.

'I don't know very much about Quidditch,' she said, and perched on the other end of the sofa. 'I enjoyed today though. They were all so fast… especially Krum.' He continued reading. 'It looks like they're playing a game outside,' her blue eyes lingered on the window, 'why don't you play?'

'I don't want to play with them.' Again, he did not look up.

'Nor do I,' she said, and peered over his shoulder at the programme. 'Will you show me who these players are?'

He nodded wordlessly and let her shuffle nearer to him. From the hall, the front door slammed shut.

'Peace at last!' cried Albus' mother, as she cantered through the house. 'It was hell on earth - the usual kerfuffle with Skeeter – given up on dealing with that cow. Oh, cheers Hermione, is it strong? Thank God, I need it.' She plunged out into the evening air again and into a rocking chair. Ginny ran an idle hand through Harry's thinning hair. 'Where's Albus?'

'DAD!' bellowed James, charging towards the house. 'Can't we go back to the camp? I don't understand why we can't! It will be so much fun tonight and we'll miss everything.'

'I'm sorry, James,' said Harry, and shifted his glasses further down his nose, 'but it will be chaos. There will be thousands and thousands of people and it could easily get dangerous. If we stay here, all your cousins can come and we can have our own party.'

'But that's BORING,' groaned James. 'Family parties are always boring. And I always get stuck with the babies because Al and Rose are extra boring.' The boy cast a mournful eye back at the pair of red heads rolling around in the dirt.

Teddy lay outstretched on the steps, half-opened his eyes to glimpse the red sun, scrunched up his face again. He had a slightly crooked nose, and small, twinkling pale eyes; his hair, turned to flashes of blue, yellow and green for the match, had glossed back to its usual turquoise. He blew it out of his eyes with a low whistle. He was tall for his age and skinny, all lolloping arms and legs, and accidentally attractive in a way that he was not yet fully conscious of. He thought of nothing, feeling only the hot air blow across his face and the sky glow orange through his eyelids. Then a hard weight smashed against his chest and winded him entirely. He lunged upwards spluttering, to see James sitting on top of him.

'Come and play, Ted,' said the boy, grabbing Teddy's arm and almost tearing it off. 'Dad's going to let us get the brooms out.'

'I'm tired,' he mumbled, lying back and closing his eyes again. 'It's too hot.' James glowered and punched him hard on the arm. Teddy elbowed him, causing James to wobble and roll back onto the dirt grass. They smiled little smiles.

'That's not like you, Teddy,' said Ginny, curling around in her chair to peer over the back. Teddy raised himself up on his elbows and opening his eyes again, was struck by the darkness of her eyes – seeming dilated, something like an animal, almost insensible. 'Cheer up – Victoire will be here soon!'

He blushed a little, stood up and pulled James away by the scruff of his neck. 'C'mon, let's play.'

James was happy to trot along with Teddy like that. His messy black hair hardly reached up to the older boy's chest, and Teddy rested his arm around James' shoulders as they walked. James had always dreamed of the days when he and Teddy would play against each other in the Inter-House Cup, and only realised the other day that when he at last started at Hogwarts it would almost be time for Teddy to leave. And besides, first-years were hardly ever chosen to play for their House teams; everyone thought that Teddy was a very good Keeper and he hadn't made the Hufflepuff team until his 3rd year. They always reminded him that Dad had been an exception, but that meant very little to James.

Victoire arrived as the sun was setting, and Teddy's team let in four quaffles in the five minutes following. She giggled from her father's side as he spun absurdly through the twilight, but her interest soon waned and she slipped back into the house like a moon dust in breeze. Teddy told James he was tired, descended, and vanished amidst the chattering groups on the veranda.

'He's a good lad, Bill,' said Ginny with a smirk.

'I know he is,' sighed the man with the thin, grey ponytail. His lip twitched towards a smile. 'But she's my first girl.'

'It could be worse. Remember what I was like?'

'You won't be laughing when it's Lily.'

'I will. It's Rose we have to feel sorry for.' They laughed and Ginny flicked back her thick red hair. She felt Harry place a gentle hand on her shoulder, and tilted her head to brush it with her cheek.


	3. After the Battle

As Harry descended the staircase of the Gryffindor tower, the dull thud of his footsteps rippled through silence. An orange sun lit his face in the spaces where the walls had been blown apart; debris and rubble cast long shadows at his feet. He was a revenant, spiriting through the ruin after a millennium of sleep, and it seemed as if everyone was long dead and rested in the ashes at his feet. But no – the bloodstains still shimmered with moisture and his bruises had not yet blossomed. His emotions were insufficient for the enormity of the day, and so Harry felt quietly numb as he passed the Great Hall and heard low chatter rumble through the oak doors. He picked out Hagrid's voice from the crowd, but had no desire to face him. He still needed a quiet place, time alone with those who could get closest to knowing how he felt, time to work out all that had happened and what it meant.

There was not the slightest breeze as Harry stepped out into the grounds. The air was static. The elements were sleeping. The sky was cast with a thick red pall and then stretched overheard into a spattered, celestial blue as the last golden smoulders dipped below the hem of the forest. He cast his eyes down to the black lake and saw two figures reclined on the bank. They caught sight of him, turned and stood. They too had a spectral air, with their wasted pallor and dark-circled eyes. They were bleeding, battered. He hadn't noticed before.

'Where's everyone else?'

'They went back to the Burrow a while ago,' said Hermione in a hoarse voice. 'We said we'd wait for you to wake up.'

'You should've come and got – '

'You've got a right to be knackered, mate,' said Ron. 'And it was nice to have a breather from…' he trailed off and bowed his head slightly. Harry understood.

'We ought to get going. It would be cruel to let your mother worry about us,' said Hermione, and drew her wand.

'But you can't apparate – ' started Harry

'I don't think many of the castle's protective enchantments are still effective,' she sighed, and Harry and Ron too drew their wands. With a loud crack and not so much as a backward glance, they were gone.

Although the sensation and nausea of spinning out of control had grown more familiar to Harry in the recent months, the present weariness of his body did not help the matter, and he was doubled over as soon as his feet smacked the dirt. Hermione had lost her footing altogether and was being helped up by Ron. He brushed the strands of dry grass from her cheek. Catching his breath at last and looking up, it was clear to Harry that the Burrow had been neglected since Bill and Fleur's wedding. The grass leading up to the house, which had once been neatly trimmed, was now up to their knees and tangled with nettles, while the structure of the building itself looked more precariously balanced than ever, as if it might blow away with the slightest breeze. They walked up the dirt track in silence.

The door had hardly creaked open before Mrs Weasley was upon them with shrill words and firm embraces. Her mouth was creased into the same wide smile, her movements still frantic and energised, but her eyes were entirely hollow, as if a vast emptiness lay behind this false normality.

'Harry, you'll be in with Ron again tonight, and Hermione with Ginny. Bill and Fleur will probably be off home soon but hopefully Andromeda will be staying. The poor woman shouldn't have to look after that baby alone after all she's been through… I know we were all in a hurry but to have left the house in such a state!' she wittered on, turning back to scrub a mountain of dishes. 'It'll take me a month to get through all this.'

'Please, let me – ' said Hermione, but Mrs Weasley jolted slightly and cut her short.

'Don't be silly, dear,' she said, her voice piercing. 'Most of the others are in the garden – it's a lovely evening to sit out – and Percy too, isn't that wonderful? – There really is so much to celebrate – and George is –' Her voice cracked slightly but she carried on scrubbing a spoon intently and brushed a stray hair from her eye with a jittery hand. They paused for a moment, as if there was something to do or say, but realised in unison that there was nothing, and walked away.

They passed Mr Weasley sat in an arm chair, with Kingsley's voice blaring from the radio next to him. _Suspects apprehended_… _Justice will come quickly…A long overdue end to an era of terror…_ His pale eyes were sparkling and glazed. In a moment that was a dull blow to his stomach, Harry realised that they reminded him of the last time he'd seen Fred's eyes. Mr Weasley did not see them as they passed him and went through the back door. As Mrs Weasley has promised, Percy, Bill, Fleur and Charlie were huddled around the table, each looking pale and worn. Percy was talking quietly and, aside from a just discernable hardness in Charlie's eye, he might never have been gone. The group turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione with warm greeting, though it had only been hours, but they all felt the same obscure need for closeness and comfort. 'Nice work, mate,' said Charlie and patted him on the back, while Fleur simply held his cheek for a moment with a smile deep and sincere.

Over Fleur's shoulder he caught sight of Ginny a little way off, sitting cross legged and ripping up strands of grass with her fist. Her hair blazed under the red sky and fell all the way down to her freckled hands which were heavily grazed at the knuckles. The eyes that caught his gaze were swollen slightly but dry now, with a look Harry could not read. At the sight Harry was overwhelmed with a need to be near her, to sink into the scent of her hair and to stroke her cold skin warm. But the night was clouded with an air of restraint, with barely contained emotion that could find no expression and so built up between them all like a mist. But there would be time for it all, he told himself as he walked towards Ginny, with Ron and Hermione following behind.

'Are you ok?' asked Harry as they sat down on the grass around her.

Harry realised these words were redundant as soon as he heard himself say them. Ginny threw her head back and her laugh was both bemused and eerily hollow.

'What's wrong with Mum?' said Ron, taking no notice. 'She's acting like a complete head case.'

'She won't stop doing the bloody cleaning – _without magic_,' said Ginny, her brow furrowed. 'Fleur wanted to use a charm but Mum wasn't having any of it. She was shaking so much that she smashed a plate.'

'I expect she's trying to take her mind off… things,' Hermione said quietly.

'At least she's doing something. Dad's been in that chair for hours, sitting like a lump. You'd think he was the dead one.' Ron and Hermione flinched at her blunt words, but there was no emotion in Ginny's face. Harry tried to meet her eye but her deep brown gaze was fixed firmly on the ground.

'Where's George?' said Ron.

'In his and – in his room. At first he refused to come home – said he couldn't bear to be here, wanted to go straight back to London. He was shouting his head off. George looked like he was going to hit Bill when he tried to stop him disapparating,' Ginny's head dropped to her hands and her breath quaked slightly. Harry's heart fluttered at the sound. 'Eventually dad persuaded him to stay a few nights – for mum's sake I think. But I'd never seen George like that. He was an absolute state. The moment we were back he locked himself in his room – Merlin knows if he's still there.'

Nothing was said for a few moments, but at once it dawned on Harry that the rest of their lives would be divided by this day. There was before, when it was Fred and George causing mayhem, when Tonks was always beaming and ready with a 'Wotcha!,' when Remus' sage advice was something to rely on. When they were at war, in terror, but together. And now it was gone, and the days ahead looked distant and alien, as if they faced a path so overgrown with briar that it could no longer be recognised. He did not know what happened next. He had not planned this far ahead. Perhaps he had not planned to survive at all. Harry looked at Ginny again, and thought he saw a tear glitter on her cheek for a moment before she brushed it quickly away. He wanted to reach out for her, to do anything to help, perhaps to comfort himself as well as Ginny, but then his gaze turned to Ron, whose face was crumpled beyond recognition, and he realised that between the siblings there was a level of grief in which he had no part. Hermione met his eye and he knew that they shared the thought.

'I think I'll go and set up the extra beds for tonight,' she said gently, 'so Mrs Weasley doesn't have to do that at least.'

Harry offered to help and, giving Ron a firm pat on the back and Ginny a mournful smile, followed Hermione into the house. Through the kitchen window, he saw them approach the table where the other Weasleys and Fleur were still gathered. Ginny rested her head on Bill's shoulder while Ron was hugged by Charlie, and he looked away just as Ron's body began to convulse with tears. Harry and Hermione did not speak until they had climbed the flights of stairs to the attic room.

'This is awful,' she said as she walked towards the window which was still draped with bright orange hangings. Harry stayed in the doorway. 'I can't imagine what George... And did you see Mr Weasley's expression?' She sighed and her eyes sparkled. To avoid answering, Harry waved his newly restored wand, causing tiny puffs of smoke as candles burst alight to illuminate the now densely dark room.

'Doesn't feel like he's gone, does it…? Voldemort, I mean,' said Harry absent-mindedly as he watched a tiny flame jump frantically. '…after all this time.'

'It will take a while for it to sink in,' she said after a pause. 'I overheard people speaking at the castle. They said that up and down the country wizards are out celebrating in the streets, hardly caring if the muggles notice. It'll go on for days, they think.'

'I don't feel much like celebrating,' he said.

'I know, I was only –' but she exhaled and turned her back on him, facing out into the black night. As the silence asserted itself again, Harry waved his wand again and his familiar camp bed flew out of the wardrobe and folded out on the floorboards. As he moved towards it, he jumped as he caught sight of a stranger in the mirror, and it took Harry a few seconds more to realise it was himself. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his lightning-bolt scar was joined by a deep graze across his face so that his jaw prickled with black blood. Glancing down, Harry noticed that his jeans were torn at the knees and there was a liberal splash of blood across his t-shirt. Hermione saw Harry grimace. At that moment she pulled a small and very familiar bag from her back pocket.

'I found this under some rubble while you were asleep, I must have dropped it. You can get changed, if you'd like,' she said, throwing the bag towards him. Harry caught it and nodded gratefully. 'I'll go and set up Ginny's room.' The light of the corridor threw Hermione's face into relief as she slipped through the door, and Harry saw that her face had been streaked with silver tears. Fresh sadness pulsed through him. It seemed to come every few heartbeats, now. He was eager to get the blood off his chest, but almost had to clamber into Hermione's bag before he finally found a clean shirt and untorn jeans. Pulling off his t-shirt, he found his torso stained with deep purple bruises from collar bone to ribs while his legs were peppered with cuts and grazes. Every wound was a reminder, a dull ache in his chest. He covered them quickly.

And then a voice came, and Harry's heart stuttered. The voice seemed to run through his ears and down his spine to paralyse him. But in the obscure darkness that made the room - Harry himself - unreal, it was the only thing of substance, a force that grounded him, and pulled his mind sharply back to his body just as it had seemed to ebb away in the tide. Harry was acutely aware that they were alone at last after an age.

'I thought you were dead,' she said. 'I had to push through everyone but I could just about see Hagrid holding you, and then everyone started screaming, and you - you were dead and I knew you were dead and I – what could I – ' She seemed to choke on her words. Harry, overwhelmed, turned to pull her into his grip but she stuck out her arm to hold him away. He felt her fingers tremble on his shoulder, and her brows were knotted together over the wide, glittering eyes that swam with controlled agony and something like accusation.

'I'm sorry, Ginny. I had to convince-'

'I know you fucking had to I'm not a fucking doughnut,' she said in a quick breath, never breaking his gaze. Quite unexpectedly, Harry found that he could not supress a smirk. Ginny raised a fierce eyebrow, but then her forcefully held expression burst into a laugh and the laugh became heaving sobs. Harry wrapped his arms around her flaming head and pulled it into his shoulder where her moans wrung his ear like a child's cry. His own tears, though quieter, ran freely down his nose before they were immersed in her hair. Their bodies were compressed, desperate to be close, to escape this dreadful isolation. Her fingers clung so hard to Harry's scalp that she almost pulled out strands of his hair. The images of horror and chaos receded in his mind with each of her jagged breaths against his throat and her mere presence seemed to unravel the years of secrets and confusion and undeserved struggle.

'Ginny,' he whispered, as the rise and fall of her breast eased and relief flooded his heart like breaking waves, 'will you go out with me again?'

She smiled for a moment, but then the corner of her lip twitched and faltered with the memory of an unbearable sadness. She reached up to Harry's face with a strange timidity and brushed away his tears with her thumb. Her other hand entangled his and he looked down at her thin, freckled fingers. A thunder of footsteps on the stairs turned their heads away. Harry felt Ginny's hand slip from his as she moved across the room and perched on the dark windowsill.


End file.
